Vince and Greg
by FrankAndAliceMemorialFund
Summary: Dumb people act normal. Normal people act smart. Smart people act brilliant. Brilliant people? They act dumb. After Quirrel, we should have learned to ask a simple question: "Can you really be that dull?" In the case of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, the answer is a resounding "no". Smart!Crabbe/Goyle
1. Go With It

**A/N: All rights go to J. K. Rowling , I own nothing, blah blah blah**

* * *

We were walking in King's Cross and had just said goodbye to our parents when Greg finally snapped. At least he made it this far; I was sure he'd have panicked ten minutes ago in front of everyone. Good timing.

"This isn't gonna work. It's not gonna work, it's not gonna get work. We're gonna get caught in 10 seconds. We should switch to your plan. Maybe we shouldn't do either. Yes, that's a good idea. No plan, we'll just be normal."

I try to comfort him. "We're sticking with the plan. Even if we get caught, it shouldn't be the end of the world."

"Nope. No way. Not happening."

"What are you talking about? It's brilliant."

"No, it's not. We're gonna get caught, and we're gonna bloody shame our families."

"Like you care. Anyways, pulling this off is the only way to, ahem, 'fulfill 's expectations'" I say, mimicking his dad's voice.

"Nope, we take the safe route. He honest."

"Ivan said Hogwarts was boring, and he thinks a boggart it a brand of clothes. We need entertainment, and that's a good way to get it."

"Yes, but..."

"Would it help if I lead?"

He nods after a moment.

"Great. It'll be fun. I promise."

I swear, Greg's brilliant. But Merlin is he a wuss.

* * *

I swear, Vince's brilliant. But Merlin is he a nut job.

Fun? It'll be fun? It won't be fun, it'll be bloody terrifying.

This is unquestioningly the stupidest, craziest, most pointless thing we've ever done. It will not be fun.

I know it was my idea, but his ideas was worse. "See how many teachers we can get to quit in a year,"? "Start a Hufflepuff-based drug cartel and a Gryffindor-based one, and provoke a gang war,"? "Convince Hagrid that the Centaurs are killing his pets,"? "Make secret passages into every dorm and haunt them,"? "Clone Filch's cat,"?

Those were all horrible. I had to propose something that Vince would like, but wouldn't get us expelled, arrested, or killed. Or all three. So I suggested the Go With It plan.

See, when we were young, our Dads enlisted both of us to be the current Malfoy's bodyguards. It's sort of a family tradition. We spent most of our time exercising together, because we'd do our job better that way. It's a simple life, and we're dedicated to it. We were, anyways.

We still would be fine with a life without excitement. Except Vince's an adrenalin monkey who couldn't stay still.

* * *

We still would be fine with a life without all too much thinking. Except Greg's a nerd who couldn't stay dumb.

Our families aren't big on the whole "education" thing. My mom could read, though, and insisted on reading storybooks to me every night. I liked them, and I remembered them word for word. But Greg was something else. We were five when I convinced both of our parents to let him sleep over. It turns out, he had never heard Tales of Beedle the Bard. Can you believe it? He was five! So of course, Mom had to read one. She let Greg sit on her lap, but he looked very closely at the scribbles at the bottom instead of the pictures. When she finished, he obviously was still into it, so I told her that, since he was turning six in a few weeks, she _had_ to read him another, because no one should be six and not have heard of The Three Brothers. Like I said, Mom's big on reading. So we got another couple of stories before she told us to go to sleep.

The Go With It plan wouldn't have happened if Greg had gone to sleep.

* * *

The Go With It plan wouldn't have happened if Vince had gone to sleep.

I'm not sure why, but patterns have always been a thing with me. Whether it's the sizes of tiles or the colors in a blanket, or the time between hiccups, I had to find it. So when I saw the scribbles at the bottom of the pictures, I had to find the pattern.

"Do you think your Mom will read them again in the morning?" I asked after twenty minutes of lying in bed.

"Not the same ones." Vince replied.

"But... but..."

"What? If you like the stories so much, I remember them. I could tell you them, if you want."

"But I need to see the scribbles!"

He got a funny, confused, look on his face.

"I... I don't remember all of those. I don't think I've ever looked to closely."

"But..."

Then, he got the worst idea ever.

"Let's go into Dad's office!"

"What? That's... like... no!"

"Come on! It'll be fun."

"No. No way. Not happening."

"All of our family's books are in there. Mom's read 53 different books to me. You'll totally be able to figure it out!"

No. I can't break the rules. Rules are... life. Rules are everything. Rules are the world. Rules get us where we need to go. But... he was right. 53 books worth of those scribbles and I'd have it by the morning. What were the scribbles' rules?

"Fine. Let's go."

I followed him quickly to 's office.

* * *

I dragged him to slowly my dad's office. When we got there, I couldn't believe it wasn't locked. We turned the handle, pushed open the door, and there it was: a whole bookcase. In hindsight, I have absolutely no clue why Father has a book case. But anyways, I climbed up the bookshelf and grabbed the highest book I could find that Mum had read. Grabbing one from the bottom would have been boring. I opened it up and began to recite.

"There were once three brothers traveling down a road at twilight. In time-"

"Slow down! And whisper. We're not supposed to be in here."

"Who cares how fast I go?"

"It's important!"

Who cares? We're just here to have some fun breaking a rule.

* * *

Who cares? We're here for the scribbles! I need him to slow down, so I give him a glare.

"Fine. Whatever."

I looked at the words. _Obviously, they represent english. I'd been able to figure that much out. The scribbles between spaces are words, and the "." marks the end of a sentence, and After it, the next scribble was always different. ",", I think, means a break, but it seems to be optional. And then there are the sound-scribbles. Some of them I'd already got: "k" "w" "m" "r" "b" "v" "p" "l" "s" "d" and "f". But others, like "e", seem to make a dozen sounds, and sometimes they don't even make much of a noise at all._ I sigh. _Let's start with the "t". Sometimes it makes a "town" and sometimes it starts "think". It starts in both of them. Maybe it's the number of letters? No, Vince said that word means "they". But both have a "h". Maybe that's it?_ So I sat there, watching the pairing of the scribbles, isolating as many as I can, figuring out which ones make sounds and which ones are for spacing.

It took hours of sitting there with Vince breathing down my neck, but I finally got it.

* * *

It took hours of standing there with Greg muttering nonsense, but we finally got it.

I wasn't sure if we were supposed to be doing this, so of course I made Greg show me how to. Greg explained it once, and I remembered all the rules. I read really slow at first, but I could always get it.

I guess we didn't clean up as well as we should have, though, because the next day, Dad was screaming about all the dark curses he'd do to whoever broke into his office. So needless to say, we swore each other to secrecy regarding what happened in Dad's office. It was our sacred pact; we could never tell anyone we were there or that we could read.

But in secret, we both loved it. We broke into Dad's office at least fifty times to get to the books. We read a book about arithmancy and did all the problems. We read about magic monsters and some muggle chemistry book than I'm sure father would have thrown out if he could read the title, and a potions book that was surprisingly similar. We read a third year transfiguration book and were able to do some of the spells with Teresa's, Greg's older sister, wand, but not all of it. But before long, we had read them all. I knew them by heart by the time we were six, and even Greg was bored of them.

So for then on, our lives were about getting just one more read. We saved every kunt to buy books when no one was looking, and reading books we couldn't quite afford yet when the shopkeepers were too busy to care. Greg's Dad said books were Muggle things, so as soon as I could get our parents to trust us alone for more than an hour, we broke their trust and left for Muggle London. I memorised a map, and Greg immediately picked up on the rules of the roads (can you believe those lazy Muggles in horseless carriages get the entire road? It's true. Normal folk only get these mini roads on either side!), so in half an hour, we found ourselves at the biggest bookshelves in history: the Chelsea Library. We went there whenever we had ten minutes. We snuck out at night at least once a week.

But once we got old enough to go to Hogwarts, I realized how bored we'd be. So I made some creative and brilliant suggestions on how to solve the problem.

* * *

But once we got old enough to go to Hogwarts, Vince realized how bored he'd be. So he made some dangerous and illegal suggestions on how to solve the problem.

"Nope. No way. Not happening."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want Mom to find out about the hypothetical frogs on the third floor, let alone the nerve gas."

"Well I'd like you to suggest something!"

There it was. If I could come up with something safe, legal, and fun, he'd do it.

"What about..." Damn. Wait! "What if... you know how we never told anyone we could read? And everyone just sort of assumes we're stupid? And we let them? What if we keep doing that?"

"Well duhh. I remember our pact."

"No, more than that. We see how dumb people will be willing to believe we are."

Please... Please...

"Okay. Sure. We'll call it the Go With It plan."

* * *

 **A/N: it's my first story, so constructive criticism would be appreciated, and please go easy on bashing. Please and thank you.**


	2. Aboard the Express

**A.N.: So, here's the second chapter. Tell me what you think! Please.**

 **Bold means cracking. (It'll make sense later)**

 **Underlined means copied from the book.**

 **Oh, yes, and J. K.R. is queen of all she reads.**

"One two three four five six-"

"I thought you said you were gonna be fine!"

"I will be!"

"Then why are you counting people?"

Greg always counts people when he's freaking out. I don't know why.

"Because I'm not fine now. How do I look stupid? I can't act."

 _Honestly Greg, you're asking this now?_

"Look for a pattern in something random. You always breath out of your mouth and stare off and stuff when you do."

"No I don't!"

"How would you know?"

He gives me a funny look, but sighs.

"How do I look intimidating?"

"You weigh 150 pounds and you're six inches taller than _me_ ," I reply. Then I add, smirking, "just crack your knuckles."

Then my smirk turns into a smile.

"Check out what I found!"

I pull out a brown toad out of my pocket.

He looks at me, suspicious for some reason. "What do you mean by found?"

* * *

 **I've meet Vince, so, of course, I'm suspicious. "What do you mean by found?"**

"I found it."

 _Yeah, right._

"Where did you find it, might I ask?"

"Some boy's pocket."

"Vincent!" I exclaim, more annoyed than surprised. _He stole it? Really?_

"What? The poor, innocent creature was suffocating!"

"Like you care."

"Are you calling me heartless?"

I try to give him a glare but he just smirks again. Then, he stuffs the toad back into his pocket as his face goes slack and he looks over my shoulder.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

I spin around, and I face the palest boy I've ever seen.

* * *

He spins around and I face the biggest boy I've ever seen.

Face might be the wrong word. My head comes up to the base of his neck, and he cranes down to look at me. _Good Merlin, they're huge!_ It's not so much that they're tall, well, they are, but mostly they're just huge! They've got to be half a meter across!

"Crabbe? Goyle?" They nod.

"Shall we go?" Father says to be formal with the help. Apparently humans are harder to control than elves.

They nod, and I lead the way to a compartment. When we get there, I ask them who's who.

"I'm Gregory Goyle, and that's Vincent Crabbe," says the shorter one. He seems to be the leader. Father says I should be noticing these things, and that one was definitely the one who lead them into the compartment. That, combined with him introducing them, means he's the leader. I've got it.

My Father would be proud. Now I need to control him.

The taller one, Crabbe, scrunches up his face for a moment after his name is said before relaxing it. Surely, he knows his name?! And damnit, they won't stop cracking their knuckles! I'm starting to wonder if I'll want to meet some other friends. No, some friends. Not other friends; they are not my friends. I need to remember that. Just then, there's an impossibly weak knock at the door. A chubby boy stands on the other side, sniveling.

* * *

 **I walk up to the next compartment, and knock as hard as I can. A pale boy opens the compartment door, sneering.**

 _I knew this was a bad idea!_

"Um... hello... um... I'm Ne-Neville Longbottom, ha-ha-have y-you seen a t-t-t-toad? His name's, er, it's Trevor."

A pair of giants sit in the corner. The short one right away is clearly holding in laughter and the shorter one follows. I don't know whether they're laughing at my name or my stutter or that I have a pet toad, but there isn't much I can do about it. They're huge. Plus, they're cracking their knuckles like crazy, and it's really starting to scare me.

"No," says the pale boy, "we have not seen a 't-t-t-t-t-t-t-toad'."

They're cracking their knuckles even faster and louder.

* * *

I crack my knuckles as fast as I can, trying to be loud enough to crack over Greg. It's getting really hard to crack and watch him crack at the same time.

See, when we were seven, we decided we needed a code. Believe it or not, it was actually Greg's idea. I guess he was scared of getting caught. So we worked on setting up a code that we could use whenever we wanted to. First we tried sign language, but it was way to obvious. I don't know how mute people whisper. Half of those signs involve putting your hands on your face. So then we thought about morse code, but some of both of our uncles were ministry hit wizards, so they might already know it. We then talked about morse code in another language, but Greg's paranoid.

So then I suggested this. There are eight fingers, which makes 63 ways you can crack them (not counting cracking none, cracking only one hand at once, backwards or forwards), so we learned chinese pinyin (the letters used for pronunciation), and gave each initial, final, and tone a "crack pattern." Every word takes exactly three cracks.

No, I'm not joking.

I was actually suppressed to find that I learn languages faster than Greg. He still can't write in Chinese, and the only way he can learn one is by deciphering it slowly himself from reading the same book in two languages.

" **I believe Malfoy meant to say 'I haven't seen your toad',** " I crack.

" **He hasn't. We have.** "

" **Do you know Malfoy's first name?** "

We both pause.

" **Nope.** "

" **Laughing.** "

" **I know, right? He never introduced himself.** "

" **Maybe he doesn't have one.** "

" **The name's Malfoy. Malfoy Malfoy**."

It's nice to see Greg open up. I guess he feels safe with the code.

Malfoy's still harassing Neville and Neville's saying something about Harry Potter.

* * *

I keep harassing Neville until he finally says something valuable: Harry Potter.

See, I decided I need intelligent conversation. So now I have to collect an actual ally instead of just minions. I asked Neville (who was most certainly not potential intelligent conversation) about who else he saw on the train. He was tight lipped at first, but some knuckle cracking from Goyle and Crabbe, plus the right words from me, and I had all the information I needed.

My Father would be proud.

Now, I'm off to find Harry Potter. This ought to be easy.

* * *

Now, we're off to find Harry Potter. This ought to be interesting.

He's six compartments down. Vince is going on again about how funny he finds it that Malfoy has us mixed up, as Malfoy tries and fails miserably to get Potter on his side.

His Father would be ashamed.

That being said, he might not be entirely wrong about the idea of having friends outside of Vince... how to approach the idea, though?

" **Greg, Greg, Greg, Greg** "

" **Yes?** "

" **Ten sickles says I can grab that mouse without it waking up.** "

" **You're joking.** " He's joking, right?

His hand approaches the rat.

" **You're not joking.** " I take back anything I've ever said about Vince being brilliant.

He can't reply (one of the flaws with the crack system) but I look away.

"But we don't feet like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

That's when Vince started to dance for joy.

* * *

That's when I started to leap from pain.

Plus, I owe Greg ten sickles.

* * *

Vince is refusing to pay me my ten sickles. It's the end of the train ride, and we still have our pocket money (Malfoy Malfoy actually believed that we spent it all on candy), and he won't pay. *Sigh* I'll steal it from him later. I've already stolen the toad and tossed it into the lake.

And yet, somehow, it entered Neville's pocket again. We'll have to get it another chance for freedom.

 **A.N.: Please review!** **What do you think of having people other than Vince and Greg narrate? Am I portraying Draco and (to a lesser degree) Neville right?** **I think Luna will find out, but would anyone else? I tend to think not. What do you think?**


	3. Sorting

**A/N: Long A/N, feel free to scroll past it.**

 **So, first things first, since I had to re-upload both of my favorite chapters because of forgetting: J. probably has better things to do with her time then publish poorly written fanfictions (to be fair, she probably also has better things to do than read them, so I doubt she'd complain if I didn't disclaimer-it.)**

 **Second, I'm sorry. Both for the time (I realize it's been about four months) and for the quality (it was always going to be the in-between chapter, so I tried to make it more interesting, and it just became long and pointless, and with the time it already took me, I didn't want to take any more time.)**

 **Third, I came up with a crazy idea (sarcasm); if I want more reviews, maybe I should try actually replying to reviews (I know, crazy).**

 **Athena's phoenix: I'm glad you like it. And I don't think they'll openly come out, because I hope to keep it pretty canon, but maybe a few people will find out.**

 **Maskless Masquerade: "like a crackfic but somehow not irreverent and it is cohesive" is now how I phrase the tone I'm aiming for. And thank you.**

 **1sunfun: Glad you think so.**

 **Goofcheese: I want to, too. Let's just hope I can come up with the how.**

 **epsi10n: Thank you, I'm hoping to do the first five years (of course, at this rate I'll be dead by the time I get to 3)**

 **TwentyRings: Thank you. I'm really glad you think so.**

 **So... onto the actual story. Underline is straight from the book, Italics is normally thought, Bold is clicks, and underline italics is the hat talking.**

* * *

"The first years, Professor McGonagall," the huge man (half-giant?) calls.

"Thank you, Hagrid," the stern-looking woman replied.

 **Dare you to grab the toad,** Vince clicks.

 **I'm not stealing the poor boy's toad,** I reply.

 **Don't you want to know what kind it is?** He replies, trying to be subtle about his smirk.

 **No, but you do.** Ok, so I do. A little. But he wants to more.

 **I already know. I remember what it looks like.**

That's what he says, but I've known Vince since he was three months old. He's smirking, but it's a tiny bit forced, and he's touching his lips. Plus, he shifted his weight towards me. So he's lying. But he's got to remember what it looks like. He was staring at it like it was his life and joy. So he doesn't recognize it. It's a weird one. Why didn't he say so?

 **Liar.**

 **I'll grab it if you wham into him.**

 **Reverse?**

 **Nope.**

 **...Fine.** _Damn._

* * *

 **...Fine.** _Victory!_

Not that I'm grabbing, I could care less which job I have. It's that he's whamming. If we're gonna pull this off, Greg'll have to be aggressive. So we get into positions. I try to get in front of him, while Greg gets to the side opposite to the toad. Then he freezes. _Don't panic don't panic don't panic! We have to be able to pull this stuff off!_

 **Just do it.**

 **The floor.**

 **What? Just wham him!**

 **The floor has scratches.**

 **So?**

 **Something was dragged across it!**

 **You're just trying to not-**

 **Why would someone drag something at a school for magic? Levitation is a first year spell.**

 **Who cares? Just hit him!**

Everyone stops suddenly, and I bump into some boy with red hair. Weasley? Right? Oh, well.

* * *

Everyone stops suddenly, and I bump into some boy with blond hair. Malfoy! Really? Oh, shit!

He spins and sneers.

"Watch where you're going, Crabbe."

At first, I want to correct him, but then I remember that it's our fault he's got us mixed up.

Next, I'm about to ask him to calm down, when I remember that he thinks he's in charge.

So I nod and look to Vince. It's hard not to be a bit interested in the ghosts, though. I've never actually seen a ghost before. I know about them, of course. But it's still a bit strange to see the pale, translucent spirits. The one on the right was a... Monk? Friar?

"My dear friar, haven't we given peeves all the chances he deserves?"

 **Square aid each meeting.** Vince clicks.

 **What?**

 **His order. Square aid each meeting.**

 _When the bloody hell did Vince learn religious orders in Chinese? Let's try to figure this out..._ _Fāng jì gè huì... not made up based on sounds..._

 _What if we try reverse-engineering it? He's not wearing a scapular and his habit's either gray or white... it's hard to tell... So that narrows i_ _t down to Augustinian Recollects or Franciscans..._

 **Prove it.**

 **The clothes makes it Àogǔsīdīng Huíyì or Fāng jì gè huì.**

 _So it means Franciscans._

 **Why not Augustinian recollects?** I click the new word, hoping I get it right. If it was wrong, he doesn't comment.

 **The were founded in 1500's in Spain. I doubt the Puffs went 600 years without a house ghost,** he clicks, smirking.

 _Dang._ I hate it when Vince gets a logic problem before me. I try paying attention to distract myself. The friar had just told us to join the Puffs. I look at the ghost next to him.

On his neck sits a ruff. I smile.

* * *

On the stool sits a hat. I frown.

Ivan was being serious? I mean, Greg said he looked serious, and he can normally tell, but I assumed he had missed some sarcasm. They actually use a hat to sort us? It's not a questionnaire or a spell or just go to whatever house you want?

The hat starts singing.

 _Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

 _but don't judge on what you see,_

If Ivan can be believed, we'll get called up one at a time, put on the hat for a second to five or more minutes, and have our houses called out. _Will we be able trick it into taking each other's names?_ Of course, most people wouldn't notice if we switched for a day. But Crabbe's early enough in the alphabet that _some_ one'll still be paying attention.

 _There's nothing hidden in your head_

 _the Sorting Hat can't see._

 _Crap._ The Sorting Hat seems pretty egotistical. I doubt it'll appreciate us trying to pull one over on it.

 **Who goes up first?** Hopefully, Greg can figure the hat out.

* * *

 **Who goes up first?** Hopefully, Vince can figure his letters out.

 **Well, which comes first in the alphabet, C or G? A B-**

 **I mean, who goes up for Crabbe?**

I think about it for a moment.

 _Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

 _and unafraid of toil_

 _Teresa and Myron managed to talk the hat into letting them into Slytherin, even though both of them are really more of Gryffindors minus some of the morals. So clearly it can be persuaded. On the other hand, better safe than sorry. But which_ is _safe? Risk getting caught by the hat, and potentially everyone as a result, or getting caught by Malfoy?  
_ _Where those of wit and learning_

 _will always find their kind._

 **Is it trickable?**

 **Yes, but**

 **Then you go up for Crabbe, Vincent.**

 _So put me on,_

 _Don't be afraid!_

 **But**

 **Do it**

 _You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

 _For I'm a thinking cap_

 **But what if it calls us out?**

He's not responding. He's just not responding.

* * *

I won't respond. I just put my hands down to my sides.

"Abbott, Hannah"

 **Vince**

 _This is really the only way to handle Greg_

 **Vince, this is a bad idea**

"Hufflepuff"

 _You kind of have to push him into it._

 **When she calls your name, you go up.**

"Gryffindor!"

 _It's for the best. He'll thank me later._

"Brocklehurst, Mandy"

 **I know what you're trying to do.**

"Ravenclaw"

 **It's not going to work. I know you're planning to wait me out, but I won't go up for you.**

"Slytherin"

 _Yeah, right._

"Crabbe, Vincent" Neither of us budges.

* * *

"Crabbe, Vincent" None of them budges.

After a moment, I call the name again. "Crabbe, Vincent?" Good Merlin, neither Franjo nor Ivan were the sharpest tool in the shed, but both of them knew their names! " ?"

A pale boy, if looks are to be believed, nudges a _very_ large boy next to him who starts to move slowly towards the hat.

* * *

Number 25 nudges Number 15, and he slowly starts to move towards me.

But aren't we only on Number 8?

 _Well, well, well. Is this going to be a thing?_

 _ **What?**_

 _First time anyone ever went up for another was two years ago. Now, it's happened twice in three years._ I certainly hope the pattern continues; life can get incredibly boring on a shelf. The song isn't even part of my job description.

 _ **Who else did it?**_

 _Now you don't want me talking about your sorting, do you?_ Another thing that happens less often than you'd think. Almost no one bugs me for gossip about older siblings, or asks how old Dumbledore is.

 _ **No...**_ Then it finally occurs to him to question the voice in his head, even if he doesn't put his thoughts into words.

 _I'm the Sorting Hat. Now we move on to the part where I do my job?_ _Please say no. I don't want to go back to my shelf before I absolutely must._ But he makes no objection.

 _Time to poke around in the old memory bank._

 _Let's see... not Gryffindor, you're braver than you give yourself credit for,_ I see a 9-year-old Number 15, terrified, but sneaking out of his room to read some books in a muggle library in the dead of night, _but you still don't have the nerve for Gryffindor._ 8-year-old Number 15 backing down from a fight with Number 8 over a prank involving two cats, bubble juice, a muggle battery, and three kilograms of every flavor beans.

 _You're loyal and willing to work,_ I see a 7-year-old struggling to memorize a story to read to his best friend after a mishap with dizzying drapht dosage put him in a coma, _but still not Hufflepuff: you only follow the rules, but because of a need for order, never an interest in fair play._ It's hard to ignore 10-year-old Number 15 stealing his neighbor's bird bath because it "threw off the color balance" of the neighborhood.

 _So that leaves Ravenclaw or Slytherin. You've certainly got the skills for Ravenclaw; you're definitely smart, reasonably creative. You've got the drive to answer questions._ I see a seven-year-old Number 15 staying up for a week to get through an Arithmancy textbook. _On the other hand, you_ are _resourceful and clever._ Finding patterns, especially in people, is as Slytherin as it is Ravenclaw. And there are a hundred examples of him finding ways to get out of his room.

In all honesty, I'd feel comfortable with either. But he has a favorite, so I go with it.

 _In the end, it's behaviors, not abilities, that matter._

Well, I can't go around telling people I care about their opinions, can I? People wouldn't try and emulate the traits.

"Slytherin!"

* * *

"Slytherin!"

 _Thank Merlin._ I was terrified I'd wreck our plans by getting sent to Ravenclaw.

I stumble clumsily as I can manage down the steps and over to the Slytherin table. I'm only the second Slytherin, but I've meet Mandy Bulstrode and would rather not sit anywhere near her. But am I required to? Is it an informal rule? Or am I allowed to sit anywhere in our corner? How did they sit in the other tables? I wasn't paying attention. As I look over to check, the cheering dies down and I hear clicking. I glance over and see Vince.

 **Sit. Sit. Sit.**

It's been a solid 30 seconds since I was sent to Slytherin.

Some of the other kids are snickering, and an older kid gestures to our table, assuming I didn't know the tables yet. _Thank Merlin for big and dumb._

I wonder if anyone will question my being sorted into Slytherin instead of Hufflepuff. Still would have been better than Ravenclaw, but...

Of course, technically speaking, I haven't been sent to Slytherin, either; Vince was. But he should be able to avoid Ravenclaw, and there's no way he'll get shipped to Hufflepuff. What about Gryffindor? Oh, Merlin.

I will die laughing if Vince gets sent to Gryffindor.

* * *

I will die if I get sent to Gryffindor.

There was never any doubt that the plan would be complicated. It took forever to plan out. I'd solve a problem and another would arise.

Me snapping and running off to the library in the middle of class? Hide pages of books everywhere.

Greg getting sent to Ravenclaw? He just talked his way out of it.

Needing to go to the library eventually? Library closes at 10. It'll be empty by 11.

Hat calling us out? Send Greg first, the hat'll like him better.

Greg can't act? Have him keep his mouth closed and look away.

My siblings? Ivan dropped out (thank merlin) and Alexander graduated

His siblings? Teresa dropped out, too, and we talked Mr. Goyle into sending Myron to Durmstrang for 3rd year.

We had it all worked out.

But now this idiot hat-

 _You're not exactly earning brownie points._

 _You're not seriously considering Gryffindor._

 _You're seriously not changing my mind. You're impulsive, brave,-_

 _Chivalrous?_

 _And I suppose you think you'd do better in Slytherin?_

Would I do better in Slytherin?

* * *

He would do better in Slytherin.

It was obvious immediately. For one thing, simply the reason that he wants to be in Slytherin guarantees admittance.

He doesn't belong in Hufflepuff, with his astounding lack of patience, nor Ravenclaw, learning is his tool and way to keep busy, nor really Gryffindor. Contrary to popular decision, a thrill addiction alone does not a Gryffindor make.

But he was the other student who switched. And I was running ahead of schedule. I'm not going back to the shelf before I have to.

But now I'm getting back on time. No point in delaying the inevitable.

Two hours later, I'm on a dusty shelf for a year.

* * *

Two hours later, I'm starting to question the necessity of the plan for the year. We could just sit here and let our housemates entertain us.

Take Blaise Zabini, for example. I think he's enjoying poking Draco (that's Malfoy's first name) with verbal sticks. Twice so far he's implied that the Malfoys don't have enough money, and Malfoy keeps bringing up Mrs. Zabini's... marital record. Seriously, though.

 **Why's he poking the bear?**

Greg gets sociology better.

 **Dominance fight.**

 **They're not dogs.**

 **Same thought process.**

 **So what'll happen?** He responds so quick he must have thought this through a while ago.

 **Depends on who's smarter. Friend options, and thus threat of social starvation, is the closest thing either of them has to power to force each other's hand. If Malfoy is, he'll claim the four unclaimed members of the house for his circle, and force Fire** -Blaze? Blaise?- **to submit or take the social hit. If Blaise is, he'll claim the others, and they'll have equal power.**

This should be fun.

* * *

This _should_ be easy.

Instead, my housemates are rebelling! I mean, not Crabbe or Goyle, obviously, and Pansy's coming along well. But still! I knew Zabini might be a problem, but I didn't expect my other classmates to pay him any attention!

And Theodore's actually listening to him. I can't believe it. Moron. Tracy and Daphne, too. Even Millicent's looking undecided, and she's been Pansy's best friend since they were 5.

And while me and Blaise may be equal in numbers, I can't help but feel that, unbelievable as it is, he might actually have the better picks. Pansy's fine, and Millicent will be if she has the brains to come over here. But Crabbe and Goyle aren't friends or even minions so much bodies. They add to my count, but not the the quality.

Oh, well. It shouldn't take them too long to realize they're better off with me.

I'm still considering my problem when Dumbledore begins a speech. Forbidden Forest... pain of death... calling us horses... Like I expected, he's a loon.

"Pick your favorite tune," _Joy_.

* * *

"Pick your favorite tune," Crap.

Is he trying to say that we're all going to sing the same song differently? Yes he is; the song's started. Most the Slytherin's aren't singing, thank Merlin, but it's still easily heard from here. I glance over to Greg. He's shaking enough that I'm nervous Malfoy might notice.

 **You okay?**

He doesn't reply.

 **Greg, the oranges. One, two, three, four, five...**

It's fairly obvious he's still upset, but he calms down counting oranges enough that Draco won't notice. How long is this going to last? Most of the class seems to be more than halfway done, but what about the stranglers?

Eventually the school's mostly over. In fact, only two kids are left (red hair: Weasleys, maybe?), singing it at a funeral chant rate. Weren't those the two Dumbledore basically called out during the speech?

To do: establish communication.

 **So... reviews appreciated, hope you liked it more than I did, I'll try to get the next chapter up by Easter.**


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